


Incident Report of Emrys DeVoire, regarding a trip to York

by Cryyptid



Category: Original Work, The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Other, SORRRYYYY, i really hope this doesnt clog the tag i just needed a place to put it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-25
Updated: 2020-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-12 20:14:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22898605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cryyptid/pseuds/Cryyptid
Summary: TW: SPIDERS, POORLY WRITTEN HORROR AND MORE SPIDERS(this is just for tma rp twitter please ignore this otherwise google docs just aint it)
Kudos: 6





	Incident Report of Emrys DeVoire, regarding a trip to York

**Author's Note:**

> JUST TO RE-EMPHASISE, TW: SPIDERS, THEY AREN'T GRAPHIC BUT BETTER SAFE THAN SORRY  
What happens in York doesn't stay in York I guess..

**NAME:** Emrys DeVoire

**RELATION:** Visitor

**DATE/TIME:** 08/02/2020

**CATEGORY:** Other

**INCIDENT:** Our Gareth was always a bit of a dull one. God it feels terrible to say it now, considering the- You know. But when he'd open his mouth and begin to drone on about HR things; "workplace etiquette", "business attire" and so on I could _feel _myself lose interest. It would turn me off without fail.

Still, I'd loved him since I'd first set eyes on him, summer of '93, two teens at a concert neither was actually old enough to attend. And that _was _him, it was his passion, his life's work and who was I to begrudge him that? It kept food on the table many times before my sculpting career really took off- Mother's rich but she never really approved of our love, cutting me off when I married "below my station". And you know what they say about the arts- and we would've been on the streets plenty of times without it. So I supported him, even if his career did bore me to tears.

The seminar at York was my idea. Gareth's business was going through a bit of a rough patch and desperately needed invigoration. I'd gone to uni there and my friend Marie had stayed on, eventually becoming a professor. She knew about the struggle we were having and suggested that, while unlikely to attract any students, a HR Seminar at one of the UK's most prestigious universities would be a sure-fire way to win some respect and drum up some interest within the industry. We were over the moon when the uni agreed to let us use their facilities to host it, took us about a month to scrounge up enough for the tickets. 

I saw you there then, tapping away at your phone urgently, didn't recognise you then. A mess of black hair, far too many piercings to be considered proper and ridiculous patterned pink plasters on the nose, above and below the eyes. Pathetic, I thought, before walking away.

If I'd known then I would've put a bullet through your eyes, right there. But I didn't, sadly, and so on it went.

Gareth gave his classic spiel, enthusiastic and clearly passionate despite the nerves, a few jokes peppered in to lighten the mood a little but most boring, as usual. Some people half-heartedly clapped, a few even looked up from their phones, which was actually better than usual. About halfway through he began talking about workplace incidents, how to file them, what's considered adequate compensation, etc. etc. Now That got people interested. For some unknown reason every geek in the building began putting their phone away and focusing for once, god knows why.

The Joke was my idea. There, I've said it. You punished the wrong person. Doesn't feel good, does it? Knowing you did all that in vain. I hope you hate it. But anyways, I’m getting off topic.

The Joke.

He'd shown me your "Incident Report" form months earlier, liked to keep track of the competition did our Gareth, and we'd had a little laugh over it. It had seemed messy, desperate and ill-educated to us compared to his own forms. I suggested he include it in the presentation as a sort of "What not to do!" kind of thing, and then he ran with it. 

Sorry, where was I? Ah, the part where you ruined my life.

It was subtle at first, people laughed, I finally managed to put a face to a name when you looked up, still clutching that damned phone, face bright red with embarrassment. I’ve looked you up since you know, no HR qualifications at all, you had no right to look so outraged.

And then, the room began to change, gradually at first, it got quieter people started to go still, looking confused all the while. There was a quiet, rumbling noise. Then someone looked down. A high pitched scream rang out through the auditorium as hundreds and thousands of spiders swarmed the floor- a few managed to run but the rest of us realised there was something keeping us in our seats, thin, innocuous looking little spider webs.

I stared, unable to do anything else. You were the only person in the room not panicking so I watched as you slowly brought your hand to your face and, upon finding it bloody, slowly removed those stupid plasters to reveal six eyes underneath, before smiling, a twisted, toothy grin. Walking towards the front slowly, growing in strength and self-confidence the closer you came.

It was…..I’m not going to tell you how it feels to be trapped in your own skull, beating at the walls of your brain and unable to move or even scream. I think you know, and from the manic look you held in your eyes as you got closer, you liked it.

We sat there, frozen in terror as we felt your little monsters crawl all over us, trapped in a living nightmare. And Then you reached us, and I wished it had just been the spiders. You turned to Gareth, smiling through pointed teeth, didn’t whisper, didn’t threaten, and though there were spiders in your hair you didn’t devour _him _(not like the rest of the poor audience). You just stood there and said the words that have haunted my nightmares ever since.

“I don’t think you like HR anymore, do you buddy? I think you want to be a waiter instead”

And he dropped like a sack of bricks, a puppet cut loose from its strings.

A Thud and he was gone.

A Thud and my life was gone with him.

He never woke up the same.

The man in my house is not my husband. Not anymore. It’s the same man, same face, same smile I fell in love with. But it’s not him. All the passion that made him Gareth is gone. He eats the same food at the same time every day, takes the same shifts at his waiting job every week, says the same thing every time I talk to him, and moves like a marionette, limbs twitching in awful movements like someone’s pulling at his strings.

In all but physical, you killed him.

I still think of all those people, rotting carcasses covered in tubiliform silk and sagging spider eggs, bodies desecrated to create more of your wretched offspring. Sometimes I wonder who got it worse, they at least got a quick and easy death, every day when I wake up besides the man of my dreams, only to be greeted by a soulless puppet, I die again. Is that selfish of me? But some things are worse than death.

I hope you’re happy with yourself now, it’s more than you deserve to hear my statement but I wanted you to know, what a monster you are, what a failure, how it felt. Try filing this one, Mr Myers.

**RECOMMENDATIONS:** I will never forgive you for what you've done. I don't care what you say or how you justify it- I don't even want to know how you can sleep at night. You're a monster and you make me sick. Do the world a favour and kill yourself before someone does it for you. If I ever see or hear from you again it'll be too soon. Rot in hell. 

**COMPENSATION:** Yes. 

**FOLLOW UP:** Not Required.

**[FOLLOW UP: THIS REPORT HAS BEEN REDACTED BY MO MYERS - CURRENT HEAD OF HR, AND REMOVED FROM CIRCULATION. IT WILL BE DISPOSED OF ENTIRELY WITHIN 6 TO 8 LUNAR MONTHS AS PER COMPANY POLICY.]**


End file.
